Blight
by PrettyPurpleHaze
Summary: It's not pretty, but it's a twisted kind of love. TrudyLex


Title: Blight  
  
Paring: Trex [Trudy/Lex]  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: Lex and Trudy. It's not pretty, but it's a twisted kind of love.  
  
Author's Note: Another angst story! Sorry. If you want a cheerier tale of Trex check out the fanfiction: Stepping into Good Fortune. That's full of the happier side of things :)  
  
Author's Note #2: This can be seen as a sequel to 'Sparking Dark.' It's not intended to be, it was a separate story, but they do seem to blend well.  
  
*-*-*-*-*  
  
He loves her a lot. He wonders if that's why he's a chronic screw-up, they used to say that you sabotage anything that is good in your life. That was back when there were talk shows . . . and TV.  
  
Now they just say he's a fool for ruining what he has, and that she's a bigger fool for tolerating it.  
  
She shrugs and tells them plainly that she loves him. It seems like it hurts her to say it.  
  
It hurts him. It's a crick in his chest, a shift that brings on the wave of guilt and self loathing because he knows she deserves better than someone who carouses around and comes to her arms, needing her deep in the pit of his stomach, and sick with his own self hate. But she'll hold him, smelling the scent of women he tried to wash off and feeling the slick tears that leak from his eyes when he's too distracted and pulled into a pit of guilt to notice.  
  
She loves him.  
  
For the pain that claws her inside, for all that . . . she loves him anyway.  
  
He never denies that he cheats, but he doesn't tell her either. When morning comes, they forget about the night before, the questions that are already answered, and he thanks God that she doesn't ask why his back has scratches among the ones she's made or about the smear of lipstick is discreetly against the underside of his collar. He blurs the thoughts of the night away and he falls at her feet when she enters the room. But he'll do it again, in a day or two.  
  
Because he wants her to leave him.  
  
She deserves better than him, like the good guys she used to want, not the fuck-up she got. But she strokes his face and pretends to not see the wash of fault and the excess of attention he lavishes on her. So another night passes and he goes to find another nameless body who will do something to him or let something be done to her, hard and fast. Never any other way, never so that it could mean something or be akin to what her shares with her. Always rough and mean, they tell her.  
  
He knows the gossip and continues that way.  
  
He wants her to see what he is, and how he isn't entitled to have someone like her care about anyone who acts that way. It never works.  
  
They tell her the stories, but she walks away. They've set her down and pleaded with her, saying she was too good for him, the disgusting whore that he was. She spurns them, chastening them for judging and reminding rigidly that she never had a pure virgin past before she met him. She'll kick out her chair and stride from the room in a fury to find him, his eyes rising to hers with awe that she wishes he'd realize is senseless. She'll hug him tightly, making love until she's sleepy and content and he's holding her, torn between letting himself rest beside her like he craves, and berating himself for having this opportunity.  
  
When she says she loves him he nods. He doesn't believe her, and at the same time he does. She puts up with him, after all. If she didn't love him would she do that? He's torn apart inside because he's with her, and he doesn't care if it makes him sick with doubt and blame, he'll never leave until she leaves him.  
  
But she treats him better than anyone else, never rejecting him even when he crawls into bed, early morning even before the sun rises to spy the terrible things he's done. While the baby sleeps he wraps his arms around her and aches for her to tell him everything is fine, always intent on confessing and pushing her away - and never doing so.  
  
He knows the water pricks her eyes and she shudders against him, letting him wrap her tightly around her midsection and hold on like she would disappear otherwise. She's told him in those moments, quiet deafening moments that she never thinks like that. Never wonders what it would be like to leave. Why imagine something you don't want?  
  
He's a coward, he knows. He goes against anyone in a fight, winning mostly, and fighting his best when he doesn't, but he can't utter a few words to hurt her. He's not sure why he does it, but everyone he's ever met has been right - he's a loser who deserves nothing. There's never any doubt when he reminds himself, but it doesn't help when he's in her arms.  
  
He just wants her, and she wants him. He kisses her like erasing the past, mending what's broken, and she never cries in front of him, but he can hear. He can't heal her anymore, not after so many times of the guilt reflecting in his eyes. She just shakes her head, tell him that she loves him, just wants to be with him, and sleeps next to him at night.  
  
She won't ask to be the only one, and he knows she blames herself.  
  
It makes him want to die.  
  
Especially when she tries to make him happy . . . and goes to another woman before mournfully crawling next to her. He's a prick and he knows it hurts, but she accepts it. She waits for him, responds like she lives for his touch, and smiles when the baby calls him 'Daddy.' After him she goes, giving him her body and her heart. He tells her that he loves her, whispering declarations that he means.  
  
He always means them.  
  
It seems like a life away when they would spar with each other, long before they found kinship together when everyone else seemed heedless to their problems or emotions. Two sides of the coin, he hurts her, and then treats her sweetly, needing her, wanting her, loving her. She's the only one he ever really loved.  
  
She kisses him like she isn't broken and he isn't killing her, but he knows it's acting.  
  
They're doomed, even when he pushes her away he clings back, and she clings with him. Among everything, Trudy and Lex don't care if they self-destruct, as long as they do it together.  
  
The End. 


End file.
